


Valentine's Day Is Pretty Much A Big Deal With You

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Fall Out Boy, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4515858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a Valentine's Day challenge in 2007 for the slutrick community on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"No, I swear this is really going to be good for you," Bill Beckett coos, and Patrick knows he can't trust the boy as far as he can throw him when that tone of voice comes into play.

"Are you new here or what? You're a pod person, right? Because the real William Beckett would know better than to try to set me up on a blind date." Patrick tucks the phone against his shoulder, making a face when Andy looks over in surprise. "The answer is still no."

"Okay, he'll come pick you up at six, be ready!" Bill hangs up, and Patrick just barely doesn't throw his phone across the bus and into (or through) the window. Andy raises one eyebrow, but before he can say anything, Patrick cuts him off.

"No. Just don't." He storms off into the back of the bus, and Andy shrugs and goes back to his book. If Patrick didn't want to know who Bill was trying to set him up with, that was cool, he could just keep it to himself.

\---

 

Travis McCoy appreciates the little things in life. Sleek cell phones, tiny mp3 players, keychain pipes, dense nugs that look small but smoke long, Bill's wrists. And now, he's finding, there's another little thing he's been overlooking (or looking over): five foot four inches of redhead, a smooth voice that-- fuck, how could he _not_ have noticed? Patrick Stump might not even know it himself, but Travis can tell that behind the sweet insecurity and the shyness, inside that tiny little package (body, not _package_ , because that's a whole new world of things he's never contemplated before) there's a young man who knows exactly what he can do, and that's anything. And that, right there, that's sexy.

Of course, it's Bill who points this out first, just a casual comment tossed out there while they're at some event-- "Doesn't Patrick look good tonight? He's got something going on there."-- and Travis can't help but look, then and every time after, and his interest snowballs uncontrollably.

\---

Standing awkwardly in the lobby of a restaurant he probably never would have gone into otherwise, looking uncomfortable in a suit and fedora-- like some kind of short, chubby mafioso-- Patrick waits, folding and unfolding his hands, eyes scanning over every time the doors open. When a familiar face comes in, he perks up considerably, walking fast to get to Travis McCoy's side. The taller man doesn't seem surprised to see him, but Patrick barely notices.

"Travis! You have to help me. Bill set me up on a blind date, and you have to know how much I really can't do things like that, so if you could just meet my date--" Finally it hits him: Travis is all dressed up too, hair pulled back as neat as those crazy curls ever get, wearing a _tie_ for god's sake-- and are those roses? "I'm sorry," Patrick gasps, "I didn't realize you were meeting someone, never mind--"

"Patrick. Breathe, man." Travis couldn't sound more amused unless, possibly, he was stoned, which he usually was but the brown eyes that met Patrick's were clear. "Happy Valentine's Day. These are for you." They were roses, six of them, long-stemmed and fragrant and seriously, was this happening? Patrick can barely react, Travis has to gently wrap his fingers around the roses. "What, you don't like them?"

"Bill-- you-- oh." In a bid to give himself a moment, Patrick buries his nose in the roses, breathing in deep. He can see Travis watching him over the velvety crimson petals, and he's never been so nervous to be next to Travis fucking McCoy. They'd sung together. They'd toured together. Hell, they'd partied together (or Patrick had watched while Travis partied hard, stared at those narrow hips against so many other hips in the room), there was nothing to be scared of...

"Hey," Travis says, eyes gone concerned. "Are you okay with this, Trick? Cause I know I never told you, but--" Patrick can't hear what Travis is going to say, he has to cut him off with a squeeze to his hand and a little smile.

"No, it's fine, I was just surprised," he excuses himself, and when Travis smiles and wraps an arm around his shoulder, it's not just pretend, it's complete relief relaxing the tenseness out of his body. "If I'd known you were bringing flowers, I would have got you chocolates or something."

"Like I need anything sweeter than what I got right here," Travis says, and _fuck_ is he smooth. It's not a joke, Travis is pretty much a big deal, and Patrick-- short, chubby, insecure Patrick-- is perfectly okay with letting himself be swept up in how it feels to have a big deal focus on him like this.

\---

Travis gets their dessert to go, two slices of the creamiest-looking strawberry cheesecake Patrick's ever seen, and there's a second of your-place-or-mine hesitation before Patrick lets Travis pull him to his car, mildly surprised at how clean it is on the inside.

They'd talked off the awkwardness, mostly; Travis admits he asked Bill indirectly to help him plan a Valentine's surprise for Patrick, which still surprises Patrick somehow-- that Travis, skinny pierced tattooed wild sexy Travis, thinks that _he's_ sexy. But when they're standing at the door, Travis fumbling a little with the key, Patrick has a second's flash of _this can't be real, this has got to be a dream_ that he allays by resting one hand at the small of Travis's back.

"You trust me, right?" Travis says, and Patrick's head only lands halfway up his back when he headbutts Travis lightly.

"If you have to ask me that question, I'm not sure," he answers honestly, and Travis snickers.

"Good answer." The door opens, finally, and instead of turning on a light Travis flicks his lighter and sets about lighting the candles around the room.

"Travie, I feel like I've walked right into a trap," Patrick says, even as he's loosening his tie and sinking down on the couch, roses placed modestly over his lap. "This is all so premeditated. Did Pete tell you I'm easy? Because, you know, it takes more than dinner and flowers to get into my pants."

"Shit, _I'm_ easy," Travis says; the last candle he lights is right next to the couch, and when he sits down next to Patrick the candlelight turns his curls into an afro-halo, golden light glinting off his piercings, and before he can elaborate on how easy he is, precisely, Patrick leans over and up and kisses him, a sweet and simple kiss that shuts Travis up thoroughly.

"I don't want to know," Patrick says softly, replacing his lips with one finger; he gasps when Travis smirks and licks his finger, and holy _shit_ , if Travis can give Patrick's _finger_ a boner, it's no wonder that the rest of his body is going haywire. Travis sucks on his finger, lets it slip until only the pad of his fingertip rests between his lips and there is no power on earth that could prevent the little moan that slips out of Patrick when Travis's eyes meet his, so provocative and promising it makes Patrick want to scream.

"You're sure it's gonna take more to get in your pants?" Travis asks, and it's not teasing at all. Patrick stares, swallows, and this goes from being the weirdest Valentine's Day he's ever had to possibly being the best when he shakes his head.

"Maybe it won't." Travis takes that as permission, starts rucking Patrick's shirt up out of his pants, and that's faster than Patrick anticipated but his body's ready to go, even if his mind's lagging behind.

There's a whole foot of difference between them, twelve inches Travis has on Patrick, and it gets really awkward when Travis on his knees still comes halfway up Patrick's chest. They make do-- Patrick arches, Travis bends, and there's a second when Patrick feels something against his skin that only registers as Travie's monroe piercing a moment before he comes. (He won't admit, even to himself, that it might have pushed him over the edge. Just like Joe will never admit the real reason he got rid of his lip ring.) Travis swipes the back of his wrist over lips that reflect the candlelight for just one second, and Patrick feels like he's been undone, shirt half-open, pants half-down, spread across Travis's couch like a shipwreck.

"You look so fucking good like this," Travis says in a husky voice, one hand rubbing Patrick's thigh thoughtlessly, "I thought you would."

"You thought about me like this?" Patrick pulls his shirt together, and Travis shakes his head and parts it again, undoing the rest of the buttons and touching like he'd never seen a fat kid before, like the way Patrick's stomach is soft is different from any other chubby stomach. Maybe it is.

"I thought about doing this, but reality just blew thoughts out of the water." Patrick hasn't made a single move to undress Travis yet; the taller boy doesn't seem to care at all, too focused on Patrick even still, watching his dark inked-up hand on Patrick's pale skin. Fingertips dance over Patrick's nipple, and Patrick sighs, one hand winding into Travis's curls.

"Travie-- Jesus, okay, hold on." Patrick squirms, wiggles away from Travis's hands and reaches for the roses while he tucks himself back in, modestly. "Do you have a bedroom somewhere, or do I have to beg you for it on a couch?"

"Shit, if you're really going to beg for it, I'll fuck you on anything you want," Travis says, grinning in the candlelight. "Bring the roses, I'll bring a candle."

"I'm not that kinky," Patrick says hesitantly, and Travis laughs.

"It's not _all_ about you, Tricky. Mostly, but not all."


	2. You're Pretty Much A Big Deal In Bed

Patrick's fingers are wrapped so tight around the roses that a thorn is digging into his palm; somewhere between Travis McCoy's couch and his bedroom, hesitation set in, the slight wonder if he really actually wanted to beg Travis for it or if he was just overwhelmed by the older man's undeniable charisma, the attention he was being paid, the dangerously sexy curve of his lips and, no, he very much wanted this once he let himself consider it.

Travis doesn't know any of this; when they reach his bedroom he wraps one arm around Patrick from behind, candle held off to the side carefully casting unsteady light on a neatly made bed. He nuzzles the top of Patrick's head, which makes Patrick tense up until Travie's hand sneaks back into his open shirt, running his bitten-down nails soft up Patrick's chest. "Pete didn't tell me you were easy," he confided, and the sound of his voice is a whole world of sexy, the way his fingertips pinch testingly at Patrick's nipple a whole different kind, "but like I said. I am. And I was feeling optimistic." They both laugh, but Patrick's is breathless and Travis's mischievous.

"Thank god for your optimism then," Patrick says, and when Travis moves away to set the candle down, he takes the initiative to let his shirt slide off, tossing the roses onto the bed gently, and it's so worth a little nervousness to see the look on Travie's face when he turns around.

"Shit, Patrick." There's no time for the shorter man to react before Travis is flush against him, walking him backwards carefully until Patrick's calves hit the bed. "You. You fucking gorgeous little, god," and Patrick inserts a comma mentally somehow because there's no way Travis is calling him a deity, but fuck grammar because that's definitely Travie's cock pressing hard against his hip, Travie's facial hair rasping against the skin of his throat. Patrick doesn't even know he's groaning, letting Travis push him back onto the bed, his head falling back.

Travis has a thing for that, pretty submission spread out in front of him; he can't help devouring Patrick's skin with his hands, the candlelight turning their skin into pale honey and dark chocolate, a taste that would linger far longer than the salt-sweet he'd already swallowed from Patrick. Patrick whimpers when Travis teases one nipple with his tongue, his back arching and turning his body almost sleek for a moment, fingers clutching at Travis's hair. The tie comes undone; curls explode around Travis's head and Patrick digs his fingers in, pulling just enough to make Travis want to purr against his skin.

"So fucking hot." Patrick's hands move restlessly, petting the back of Travis's neck, stroking his cheeks, and Travis smiles up at him brightly before moving back to unbutton his shirt. He doesn't need music, he's got his own beat, and Patrick can't do anything but stare as Travie sways and reveals his skinny boy body in the candle's glow. The ink pours through his skin, black on brown under gold, and he looks unreal, something out of dreams Patrick could never remember upon waking. When Travis lets his pants slide down his forever legs, steps out of them gracefully like he does this a lot (and maybe he does), Patrick does what he said he would: he begs for it. Travis is hard, clearly outlined in his boxer-briefs, and Patrick props himself up on his elbows and licks his full lips and says, "Christ, Travie, bring that up here or I'm gonna cry."

"You want it that bad?" Travis sounds smug, reaching down to give himself a grope, as much for Patrick's benefit as for himself. Patrick nods, almost desperately, and fuck if Travis isn't just winding him up now, pulling down the elastic band until just the head of his cock peeks up, licking his own lips in a sex-drenched motion, eyes heavy and teasing as he watches Patrick swallow and reach out a hand pleadingly. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got the most perfect DSLs ever?"

"DSLs?" It's not funny how well sex and confusion mix on Patrick's face. Travis has to hold himself back from just leaping on him; Patrick's eager, but he wants to take this slow, show the insecure boy how very much Travie appreciates all of him. One step closer, two, and Travis runs his thumb over Patrick's lips when he moves closer to the edge of the bed.

"Dick-sucking lips. All soft and pink and shit, the kind of mouth that's just made to give head." Travis smirks down at him, face cast in shadows that make him look devilish and dangerous, and pulls Patrick's pants down the rest of the way until he can toe them off. "I've seen you, man, you can barely keep your mouth off a microphone. Comes naturally to you, doesn't it?"

Either Travis has been picking up rumors, or he can really tell that just from looking at Patrick's parted lips; honestly Patrick doesn't care which is which because Travis's words already have him hard again and all he wants to do at the moment is exactly what Travie thinks it is. Pale hands grab onto dark hips, not exactly gently, and Patrick's close enough already that when Travis falls free of his yanked-down shorts there's cock against his cheek, Travis sucking in a breath at the fucking _weird_ feeling of Patrick's sideburn on the sensitive skin there. "Yeah, you're right," Patrick says, tone offhanded but mouth ravenous, lips sliding up the side of Travie's dick and pressing wet and full and pretty pink around the head. Travis sways, crying out roughly, one hand closing on Patrick's shoulder.

"Shiiiiiiit, Trick, no joke." Travie's a gentleman, at least on Valentine's Day; Patrick's got his mouth too full to tell him it's okay to be a little rough, that he doesn't mind having his mouth fucked. _Next time,_ he thinks, and does that thing with his tongue that he learned from Andy but that works just as well without a tongue ring. Travis howls, pulling back with a stunned expression, gasping for a breath. "Jesus, fuck, you're--"

"It comes naturally to me," Patrick echoes Travie's words and they both have to smirk a little. "Do you want me to finish or...?"

"Blowjobs for breakfast," Travis decides in an instant, and it's so fucking arrogant and so correct of him to assume Patrick's going to stay until morning. "Right now, I think..." He pushes Patrick back again, covering the smaller body with his own; Patrick could complain about being pushed all over the place except Travis's cock is still damp from his own mouth, jostling against his own hardness in the most pleasant way. "Fuck, yeah," Travis moans, grinding his cock into the crease of Patrick's hip, his mouth hot against Patrick's temple.

There's a moment of tussling, Travis trying to get Patrick on top and Patrick resisting, because he _doesn't go on top_ , ever, too self conscious to put his weight on anyone; finally Travis goes for his sides and Patrick can't resist when he's giggling, lets Travis roll under him and drops his head on Travis's chest. "What," he says breathlessly.

Travie slides his hands down, skimming Patrick's hips and grabbing onto his ass with a squeeze. "I like big butts and I can not lie," he says with a straight face, and Patrick squawks, hips jerking down into Travie's when fingertips dip down, tracing all the way through to his balls. It's Travis's turn to laugh, drawing one hand up to stroke Patrick's sideburns thoughtfully, fingertips tracing over his lips. "Suck," he says, pressing two against Patrick's mouth until he lets them in, tongue clumsy with wanting.

"Really," Patrick says when Travis takes them back, and he can't stop rubbing himself against Travie, cocks sliding against each other. He goes from frantic to motionless at the nudge of Travie's damp fingers, whimpering and spreading his thighs wider around Travis's, holding his breath as one fingertip circles and then pushes, and Travis's fingers aren't callused like a guitar player's, unfamiliarly soft as they slide into him. "Fuck," Patrick breathes, "Trav, please," and there's evil in Travis's smile.

"Maybe later," he shoots back, and with a ragged voice like that he barely needs to qualify that statement: "I don't wanna come too soon when I get in you," and that makes them both grind a little faster, Patrick fucking himself back onto Travie's fingers, pushing forward against his dick, and how can he _not_ come with Travis's teeth on the side of his throat and those fingers curling in him?

Roses crush under Patrick's arm; Travis's head falls back and he thrusts a few more times, adding to the sticky heat between them. "Wow," Patrick says quietly, forehead pressed into Travis's shoulder while he catches his breath, both hands stroking over Travis's curls slowly. "Wooow."

"No joke," Travis mumbles into Patrick's skin; he touches Patrick softly, palming his sides, his hips, all the wonderfully soft places. "Shit, Trick, I'm not letting you out of my house for a week."

"I do have a tour to do," Patrick reminds him; there's a glow inside him like candlelight, satisfaction and happiness, comfort. He rolls off Travis and cuddles against his side, closing his eyes when Travis drags a slightly crushed rose over his skin, fragrant and velvety and the sweetest gesture ever.

"We'll make time," Travis promises. When Patrick looks into those dark eyes so close to him, he lets himself believe it's true.

 

\---

Before they make it out of bed the next morning, Patrick's already given Travis some of the best bed head the older man can ever remember getting; when Travis comes back to the bedroom with last night's dessert and one fork, Patrick can tell that the morning is only going to get better.

"Breakfast of champions," Travis quips before he licks a bite of cheesecake off Patrick's skin.


End file.
